Grounding was the word. Real. Something I controlled.
By the fourth set, my chest and arms were pumped, blood doing what blood does. I sat up, grabbed my water bottle. That was when I saw him.
Really tall. Maybe six-four with dark brown hair, the build of a guy who lifted regularly but hadn’t made a religion of it. White, late twenties, maybe. Gray t-shirt showing off a sleeve tattoo down his left arm. Black gym shorts. He was over by the cable machines doing lat pulldowns with decent form, the kind of guy I would’ve clocked.
I’d never seen him before. I would’ve remembered.
He finished his set, stood up, and for a second his eyes swept across the gym. They landed on me.
Or maybe they didn’t. Maybe he was looking in this general direction. But for a moment, our eyes met, and something happened.
I looked away. Grabbed my phone, pretended to check a text that didn’t exist.
When I glanced back, he was adjusting the weight on the machine, focused on his workout. Not looking at me at all.
Okay. So I’d imagined it.
I moved to the squat rack, loaded up the bar, and tried to focus on my form instead of the urge to look over at the cable machine. Which was stupid. I saw attractive guys at the gym constantly. This was Brooklyn. Half the population qualified as attractive.
But there was something about this one.
No. Nope. Not going there.
First squat. Thighs burning. I made myself count. One, two, three, focus on the movement, focus on the weight, focus on anything that wasn’t theguy across the gym who may or may not have been looking at me.
By the time I finished and headed to the locker room, he was gone. I told myself I wasn’t disappointed. I told myself a lot of things on the walk home that might’ve even been true.
Chapter four
Isaw him again on Tuesday.
Same time, same general area of the gym, this time on the treadmill, running at a steady pace with headphones in. Halfway through my shoulder workout, there he was, and I definitely didn’t adjust my position so I had a better view. That would be weird.
He ran with good form. Long strides, controlled breath, the focus of a person who actually liked cardio, which was psychotic but kind of impressive.
I finished my set of lateral raises and grabbed my water bottle, taking a longer drink than necessary. Just hydrating. Very normal.
When I glanced back, he’d slowed to a walk, cooling down. He pulled his shirt up to wipe his face, and I got a flash of lean muscle, a trail of dark hair disappearing into his waistband.
Okay. He was definitely attractive. That was an observation. In the same way I’d observe how the gym had good lighting, or that someone had finally fixed the broken water fountain.
He stepped off the treadmill and our eyes met for half a second before Ilooked away, suddenly fascinated by the weight stack on the cable machine.
Cool. Totally normal. Just two guys at the gym, coexisting in the same space, not thinking about each other at all.
On Thursday, he was at the squat rack.
I’d planned my entire workout around legs that day, which meant I needed the squat rack, which meant I had to wait while he finished his sets. Not a big deal. I could start with lunges, coming back when he was done.
Except I didn’t start with lunges. I stood there, pretending to scroll through my phone while watching him in the mirror.
He loaded two plates on each side, not bad, and dropped into his squat. His form was decent. Knees tracking over his toes, back straight, good depth. He grunted softly on the last rep, and something in me caught.
What the hell was that?
When he finished his set and stepped back, he caught me looking. Actually looking, not a casual glance. His eyes were hazel. I could see that now, green and brown with flecks of gold under the gym’s fluorescent lighting.
He held my gaze for a beat longer than strangers should, and the contact landed through my chest, down my spine, and into the back of my knees. Not just attraction. Attraction happened all the time, but this was different. Something that made me want to walk over and introduce myself instead of just taking him home.
